


La Douleur Exquise

by StrangeMischief



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Pining, stephen strange centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 10:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15928256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangeMischief/pseuds/StrangeMischief
Summary: He could shut it away just like everything else. He’d make a little cardboard box and shove it all in there. The hope. The ache. The searing love. All packed tightly in the box; it’d fit nicely between the one for his hands and the one for Titan.He could conceal it deep in the recesses of his mind. They could still be friends. Everything would be okay.





	La Douleur Exquise

**Author's Note:**

> La Douleur Exquise ~ "Exquisite pain" of wanting someone that you know you can never have. Thanks to Banana for proofreading. 
> 
> As always, enjoy :3

_ La Douleur Exquise _

 

They yearned for the _before_. For the innocence. For the good intentions. For when one was “Stark” and the other “Strange.” When all they felt was amused irritation and friendly kinship.

 

The _before_ was easy. There were fewer boxes in their minds and no chains around their hearts. There was no hurt. No tears. No dreams.

 

But those days were long gone.

 

\---

 

It wasn’t long after the defeat of Thanos and the restoration of those “snapped” before Tony would show up on Stephen’s stoop. Occasionally drunk. Frequently pale and shaking like a leaf. Sometimes clutching a bloody fist, shards of a mirror or ceramic still jutting from his knuckles or palms.

 

Though initially deeply exasperated by the sporadic appearances, Stephen would let him in. Occasionally for water and a spare bed to crash on. Frequently for tea in comfortable silence. Sometimes for gentle wound cleaning and tightly wound bandaging.

 

\---

 

It was the fifth time since Thanos’ defeat that Stark had found his way to the Sanctum drunk. Though he usually didn’t want more than to crash on the couch, tonight was different. Stark cradled his bloodied right hand to his chest with his left. Judging by the reflective shards jutting out from between his knuckles, Stephen would guess he had punched a mirror.

 

With a sigh, Stephen led Stark to the kitchen and began the lengthy progress of shakily plucking slivers of glass out with tweezers. “Any particular reason why you decided to attack a mirror?” Stephen mumbled, more to himself than anything.

 

Stark said nothing, as was expected, as he silently watched his blood drip down the kitchen sink. “I’m a monster,” he choked out so softly Stephen almost missed it.

 

Stephen’s hand paused, hovering over Stark’s injured one. Suddenly he understood. “No, you’re not.”

 

“I’m-” Stark began to argue, but Stephen was having none of it.

 

“Human,” he interrupted. “You’re human, Stark. You do what you can, and no one should expect anything more of you.”

 

Stark scrutinized Stephen for several moments before stiffly jerking his head in acknowledgment. “You know, you can be a decent guy when you’re not being a complete asshole.”

 

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Stark.”

 

“Tony,” the other man mumbled.

 

The sorcerer’s gaze drifted up to meet Tony’s. “Stephen,” he replied with a nod.

 

\---

 

Stephen could never pinpoint where exactly in the year following the defeat of Thanos the change began. Where he started calling Tony by his first name. Where he grew to expect the billionaire’s visits.

 

The moment he realized that he’d fallen into some sort of inescapable trap, however, _that_ he would never forget.

 

\---

 

It lacked the dramatic romanticism he’d imagined it would. There were no fireworks. No ton of bricks dropping. No shifting of the Earth from beneath his feet. The room didn’t melt away. The time didn’t stretch on. It was just a second. Perhaps less than that. A moment. An _instant._

 

Their eyes connected, and Stephen knew all hope for him was gone. His heart had betrayed him and was no longer his own. No, Tony Stark held his fragile, scarred heart between his two calloused hands and didn’t even know it. The epiphany was exhilarating. It was terrifying. It was brief.

 

Tony folded back the fine ivory lace of Pepper’s veil, leaned in, and gave her their first kiss as man and wife. Tony Stark kissed the newly named Pepper Stark and completely shattered Stephen Strange’s heart.  

 

The crowd around him rose to their feet and applauded heartily as the happy couple turned to face their friends and family, sappy smiles across their faces. Stephen stood stoically. His chest ached with every beat of his heart as he gazed at the newlyweds. Tony’s figure swam in and out of his vision, and he briefly worried he was becoming faint.  

 

May Parker placing a gentle hand on his forearm snapped him out of his trance.

 

“It was such a moving ceremony, wasn’t it?” she choked out around happy tears. “I always cry at weddings. I’m just glad I’m not the only one who shed some tears this time!” Peter’s aunt dug through her purse and produced a small packet of tissues which she held out for Stephen to take.

 

Stephen raised a quivering hand to his face and brushed a finger under his eyes, first left, then right. He brought his hand back down and stared at the wet trails that streaked across his palm.

 

He hadn’t realized he’d even cried.

 

\---

 

_Bury it. Bury it. Bury it._

 

He could shut it away just like everything else. He’d make a little cardboard box and shove it all in there. The hope. The ache. The searing love. All packed tightly in the box; it’d fit nicely between the one for his hands and the one for Titan.

 

He could conceal it deep in the recesses of his mind. They could still be friends. Everything would be okay.

 

_Nothing would be okay._

 

\---

 

The gods tested him.

 

If the newspaper had been right, Tony hadn’t been back from his honeymoon for more than two days before making a visit. He wasn’t drunk. Or frightened. Or bleeding. He didn’t need anything. No, Tony had come because he _wanted_ to. It was an exhilarating thought. It was a hurtful reminder.

 

Had he not known any better, Stephen would have thought Tony was a sorcerer himself. How else would Tony have somehow found a way to move the sun and moon at his very will? Every time the front door opened, it was to reveal Tony on the stoop with golden rays of sun streaming through his wavy chestnut hair, tanned skin glowing warmly in the light. At night, the dim moonlight created dark shadows in the sharp panels of his face. His dark eyes glimmered with the shine of millions of stars as if they had all turned and aimed straight for the chocolate irises.

 

Stark paused his lively description of his newest suit and asked him if something was the matter. Stephen smiled softly and shook his head no as he shoved away the itching urge to reach over and run his hands through Tony’s hair.

 

He could fake it. He could lie.

 

\---

 

And then _it_ began.

 

It was _exquisite_. It was divine. It burned, and ached, and would most definitely hurt in the morning, but most importantly it didn’t matter because all that existed was now. This small sliver of time that was so perfect that, should Stephen have his way, would continue on and on forever, in an endless, infinite loop of gasps and sweat.

 

But it couldn’t.

 

Because, as dreams often are, it wasn’t real.

 

\---

 

Wong had been all too happy to allow Stephen to confine himself to his room as soon as the flu-like symptoms began to appear. And while his friend had managed to deter Tony from Stephen’s sickbed for about a week, Wong grew exasperated by the billionaire’s attempts to sneak into the Sanctum and relented.

 

Stephen had quickly dispelled any notion that it was more than a friendly gesture and tramped down the forming daydream that claimed precisely the opposite.

 

Tony lounged lazily against the footboard of Stephen’s bed. He seemed agitated; impatient. His rough fingers tapped sharp rhythms against his leg.

 

“Just tell me,” Stephen moaned from the other side of the bed. “I can’t take your incessant tapping any longer!”

 

Tony’s rhythm faltered for a second before continuing on as usual. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he huffed indigently.

 

Stephen cracked open one eye and shot Tony a cold look. “You haven’t stopped fidgeting since you came in _an hour_ ago _._ ”

 

“Yes, well, being in your bed isn’t exactly stimulating,” Tony shot back hotly.

 

Stephen arched a brow and smirked.

 

He swore he saw Tony _blush_ in the dimly light room. “ _Intellectually,_ ” Tony ground out tightly. “I’m sure that…Well I don’t actually know, but I’d assume-”

 

He broke off to glare at Stephen, who had begun to laugh weakly in between hoarse coughs.

 

“You know what, Strange?” Tony huffed, “Screw you! I’m the only one willing to expose myself to your disgusting germs, and all you do is give me grief.”

 

“I suppose it’s because I’m not very _stimulating,_ ” Stephen rasped, pleased that, for once, he could joke at Tony’s expense.

 

“Pepper wants to leave the city!” Tony spat out, eager to switch the topic.

 

The laughter abruptly died in Stephen’s throat, and the warmth in his chest was swept away by a chilly tide.

 

“She wants to leave the whole state, actually,” Tony continued on, not looking at Stephen. “Found some colonial style place with grass and fences and all that American dream stuff out in _Connecticut_.”

 

Stephen felt his throat tighten at Tony’s words. The prickling feeling of rejection washed over him and settled in his already sore chest. “You’re going to leave,” he whispered thickly, thankful that it would appear a symptom of his frequent coughing fits. “That’s why you’ve wanted to come visit me,” he sighed. “To say goodbye.”

 

“We haven’t decided if we’re going for sure,” Tony protested. Stephen heard the truth behind his words. _I don’t want to go._ But he also knew Tony well enough to know it didn’t matter what he wanted; he’d follow the one he loved to the ends of the Earth.

 

Stephen closed his eyes and leaned further into his pillow. He knew when to face the truth. Pepper obviously was ready to ditch the city for suburban family life. And though Tony seemed hesitant, Stephen was certain a large part of him wanted that too.

 

“Connecticut is…nice,” he mumbled weakly.

 

Tony snorted. “Have you ever even been to Connecticut?”

 

Stephen ignored him. “It’s not too far from the city,” he continued. “You could always visit.”

 

Tony paused his fidgeting.

 

Stephen’s eyes flew open as he realized the possible implications of his words. _Crap._ “Peter!” he croaked quickly. “You could always visit Peter.”

 

“Peter,” Tony agreed quietly.

 

\---

 

Tony left but the game of “keep it in the box” continued, and Stephen was failing. Horribly.

 

Though no longer an inhabitant of the city, Tony would often have some excuse to be there and drop in on Stephen. He’d read a science journal he thought Stephen would enjoy and _had_ to bring it by himself, he was here visiting Peter anyway, or he’d found some of his old vinyl records and knew Stephen enjoyed them. The excuses were reaching, and more often than not appeared made up on the spot, but Stephen still felt a familiar, fond affection each time he opened the door and found Tony on the stoop.

 

Keeping it in the box got harder and harder every day.

 

\---

 

Stephen opened the front door, and there stood Tony, skin gleaming beautifully in dying light of day. The golden tinge of sunset shone behind him, creating an ethereal glow about his figure. He looked angelic. He looked _beautiful._ Stephen’s heart stopped at the sight.

 

“Grab your cloak, Stephanie,” Tony grinned, his face brightening with unabashed joy. “We’re going out for Chinese.”

 

And that was it. The box broke open. It was a fool’s dream to ever think he could ever fit all of that into such a small container. It was too much. The box was overfilled. It leaked. The contents spilled out. It was never meant to fit in a box, and it never could. “I can’t.”

 

Tony’s grin twitched, and his brows drew together in confusion. “What? Are you busy tonight?”

 

Stephen gripped the frame of the door tightly as “I can’t do this anymore.”

 

“Chinese? Okay, what about Italian? I know you like those big pasta shells stuffed with-”

 

“Tony,” Stephen cut in, “you can’t come here and ask me to-to go out to dinner and to hold your hand and lay next to you while I cough and-and still be your _friend!_ ”

 

“You don’t want to by my friend?” Tony whispered, hurt coating his words.

 

“I _can’t_ be your friend.” It felt like needles were twisting into Stephen’s heart. It hurt to be Tony’s friend. It hurt to tell Tony he couldn’t be his friend. There was no escape, no refuge. He was damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.

 

“I don’t understand.” Tony’s voice was soft and wounded.

 

But Stephen hadn’t heard him. The words rushed out faster than he could think about them. “I try not to think about you, but you won’t just let me be! It’s-It’s like drowning. Always gasping for air and I…I just can’t do it anymore. I _can’t_ do it anymore, Tony!”

 

Tony held Stephen’s gaze for a stretch of several minutes, his face uncharacteristically unreadable. “Stephen,” he whispered, eyes still pinned on Stephen, “what is it you want?”

 

Stephen thought of the vivid dreams. He thought of the days spent in reverie, thinking off all that could have been. He thought of the fleeting desires and the quashed impulses and the restrained yearning. “I want everything,” he finally answered. “I want it all.”

 

Without conscious thought, Tony’s thumb spun his wedding band up and down his left ring finger. “I can’t do that. I want...I want…”

 

Stephen offered the billionaire a sorrowful yet understanding smile. “I know.”

 

\---

 

For all his prowess, for all his knowledge, and, most importantly, for all that he knew of Tony Stark, Stephen Strange still couldn’t tell when the other man was hiding something. And while Tony was grateful for that, a small part of him wished it weren’t true.

 

Because Tony Stark knew how to fake it too. He knew how to lie. And, when the light of day faded, he too knew how to dream.

 

But, most importantly, deep in the far corner of Tony Stark’s mind, there was a cardboard box. It bulged with the enormity of its contents to the point where it dwarfed the nearby boxes in size. So full, the box would occasionally leak and push the man to make rash decisions such as punch mirrors or sit in rooms with contagious wizards. And, perhaps, at one point he could have dumped the box out and let the contents run loose through him. But now…now it was too late. Pepper needed him. And soon, someone else would too.

 


End file.
